I spent all of last weekend distressed, worried that I would have to report to jury duty starting Monday. So one can imagine my relief when I called in Sunday night and found out I wouldn’t be needed. This victory was short-lived, though, as the end of the message dictated that I call again Monday night after 5 p.m. Of course, given my luck, it turns out I had to report on Tuesday morning by 7:45.
I went to sleep having set my alarm to 6:00 since the courthouse is all the way downtown. Somehow I didn’t hear my alarm and ended up waking at 8:00. Big problem, right? I threw on whatever clothes were available, ran out the door and raced as fast as I could to the courthouse, fearing that they would send out a bench warrant for my arrest. It didn’t help that the parking lot was nearly 5 blocks from where I needed to report. I spent another 15 minutes in the security check line and discovered there was a staircase up to the 5th floor only after I waited for an elevator for 10 minutes. The jury assembly room was full and it looked like everyone was receiving some sort of orientation. Handing in my summons with a little bit of shame for being so late, no one rebuked or reprimanded me. Whew. I thought I was in the clear. Maybe I would get to go home without being called. But no. 20 minutes into the wait, they had already called two panels of 35 potential jurors. Soon after, I heard my name in the third panel.
Needless to say it wasn’t my first time in a courtroom, but there is something that seemed so surprisingly sacrosanct about it. As I walked into the room, I felt some instinctive need to genuflect as I filed in with of the prospective jurors into the audience benches. A true calling, perhaps? It felt like the church of justice or something corny like that. Despite my deep sense of deference, I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t get called, mostly because I could potentially miss an entire week of class - something that had screwed me up in the past.
I did get called, of course. As far as they were concerned, I was the anonymous juror number 16. We were “let off the hook” early that day, but I would’ve preferred staying the whole day, because if there any chance of my being excused, at least I wouldn’t have to report again, meaning no 1 hour drive, no missing class, no having to wake up ridiculously early. So I reported again the next day, except we were delayed over half an hour because of some stupid girl from UCLA who decided she would take some extra time with her makeup I suppose. All other boring details aside, the attorneys began to use their peremptory challenges, thanking and excusing their least-preferred jurors (the ones presumably least helpful to their side of the case). I’m not sure how many challenges each lawyer gets, but there is in fact a preset amount, and as they kept excusing more and more people, I was afraid I would be stuck there for the remainder of the week. Again I was surprised. The prosecutor excused me, and while I felt a sense of relief for not having to be there any longer, I was also a bit disappointed. Secretly I was excited to take part of this legal process, and my self-conscious mind wondered why he didn’t want me there. Hah.
In any case, I ran out of there, drove as quickly as I could back home. But guess what? I missed the rest of my classes this past week with the exception of two discussions, which were useless because I didn’t know what was going on anyway.
Ah, civic duty.